The Archive

I didn't sleep.

Couldn't sleep.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Kerry's smudged lipstick and Foxe's face in the dim glow of the car's interior.

By the time my alarm went off at six, I'd already been awake for three hours.

I dragged myself out of bed, showered until the water ran cold, and pulled on the most boring, professional outfit I owned—black slacks, white blouse, blazer that made me look like I worked at a bank. The kind of shit you wore when you needed to disappear into the background.

The metro was packed with the usual morning crowd of tired office workers holding coffee like it was stimulants, students with headphones in, and a guy in a suit who smelled like he'd bathed in cologne. I wedged myself into a corner and checked my phone.

June: Partnership finalized. Contracts signed. Shield arrives at 9 AM for briefing.

My stomach dropped.

He's coming here. To the office.

June: You'll handle the preliminary documents. Conference room reserved for 10.

Of course I will.

Me: Understood.

I shoved my phone back in my pocket and spent the rest of the ride trying not to throw up.

The Jeremy & Co. building looked the same as it always did. Forty-three floors of corporate excess in the heart of New Greenland's financial district. I badged in through the lobby, nodded at Mari the security guard who'd worked here longer than I'd been alive, and took the elevator up to forty-two.

My desk was exactly where I'd left it yesterday, buried under a mountain of paperwork, three different coffee cups I'd forgotten to throw away, and a sticky note from June that just said DON'T FORGET in his aggressive handwriting.

I sat down, powered on my computer, and pulled up the partnership files.

Foxe Shield.

CEO of Shield Industries.

Twenty-nine years old.

Net worth estimated at somewhere north of five hundred million.

Specializes in tech acquisitions and venture capital.

No social media presence, not even LinkedIn.

No scandals. No messy public breakups. Nothing.

The man was a freaking ghost.

The only photo I could find was a professional headshot from some business magazine article, and even that looked like it had been taken under duress. He was wearing a suit with a blank expression on and his dark eyes unreadable.

The same eyes that looked at me yesterday like he knew exactly what I was thinking.

I closed the file before I could spiral.

June's office door opened, and he stepped out looking like he'd slept even less than I had. His tie was crooked, something that never happened, and there were shadows under his eyes that makeup couldn't hide.

"Coffee," he said flatly.

"Already brewing, sir."

"Strong."

"Always."

He almost smiled. Almost. Then he looked at me properly and frowned. "You look terrible."

"Thank you, sir. You're too kind."

"I'm serious, Anella. Are you sick?"

No, I'm just having a mental breakdown because your fiancée is cheating on you with your new business partner and I can't tell you without losing my job and my brother's surgery money.

"Just tired," I said.

He studied me for a long moment, then nodded and disappeared back into his office.

I sagged in my chair and pressed my palms against my eyes until I saw stars.

My phone buzzed.

Melly: you alive?

Me: barely

Melly: did you talk to Jericho last night?

Guilt twisted in my chest. I'd meant to call him. I'd promised I'd call him. But after the alley incident, I'd gone straight home, locked myself in my apartment, and stared at the ceiling until my alarm went off.

Me: i'll call him tonight. promise.

Melly: he misses you. says PT is going well tho

Melly: also he asked if you're eating enough

Melly: which. are you?

I looked at my breakfast—a protein bar I'd found in my bag that was probably three months expired.

Me: define enough

Melly: ANELLA

Me: i'm FINE. worry about your patients, not me

Melly: you ARE my patient. emotionally.

I was about to respond when the elevator dinged.

And Foxe Shield walked into my office.

He looked different in daylight.

Less like the man I'd caught in a dark alley and more like someone who belonged on the cover of Forbes. His charcoal suit fitted to perfection, white shirt, no tie, top button undone just enough to be casual. His hair was dark, pushed back from his face, and his eyes were the same dangerous shade of brown I remembered.

He stopped in front of my desk, hands in his pockets, and smiled like we were old friends.

"Good morning."

I stared at him.

Say something. Anything.

"Mr. Shield." My voice came out flat and professional. "You're early."

"I like to be punctual." He glanced around the office, taking in the organized chaos of filing cabinets and motivational posters that June's assistant before me had put up and no one had bothered to remove. "This is cozy."

"It's an office."

"It's very… beige."

I gritted my teeth. "Mr. Jeremy is expecting you at ten. If you'd like to wait in the lobby—"

"Actually, June sent me to you." He pulled out his phone, tapped something, and showed me the screen.

June: Anella will handle the preliminary briefing. She has the files you need.

Of course he did.

I stood, smoothing down my blazer, and grabbed the folder from my desk. "Follow me."

"Lead the way."

We walked in silence down the hall toward the archive room which was a glorified storage closet where we kept all the physical copies of contracts and legal documents that hadn't been digitized yet. I could feel him behind me, too close, and my skin prickled with awareness.

Don't think about last night. Don't think about Kerry. Don't think about the emails.

I pushed open the archive door and flicked on the lights. The room was narrow, lined floor to ceiling with metal shelves, and smelled like old paper and dust.

"Everything you need is in here," I said, setting the folder on the small desk in the corner. "Contracts, financial projections, risk assessments—"

"Why are you avoiding looking at me?"

I froze.

What?

"I'm not—"

"You haven't made eye contact once since I walked in." He moved closer, and I stepped back on instinct, my hip hitting the edge of the desk. "Are you scared of me, Anella?"

"No."

"Liar."

I finally looked up, met his eyes, and regretted it immediately because he was staring at me like I was the only thing in the room that mattered.

"Last night—" I started.

"You ran." He tilted his head. "Why?"

"Because I wasn't supposed to see that."

"And yet you keep showing up everywhere I am." He took another step forward. "Makes a man wonder if it's really June sending you… or if you're just curious."

My pulse spiked. "You're delusional."

"Am I?" He was too close now. I could smell cedar and some expensive cologne that probably cost more than I can care to imagine. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you can't stop watching me."

"I was doing my job—"

"Your job is to be June's secretary. Not his spy." His voice dropped lower. "So why are you really following me?"

I lifted my chin. "Maybe I just don't trust you."

"Smart." He smiled slowly. "You shouldn't."

And then he moved.

One second there was space between us, and the next he'd backed me fully against the shelves, one hand braced beside my head, the other still in his pocket like this was casual. Like cornering women in archive rooms was something he did every Tuesday.

"What are you doing?" My voice came out breathier than I wanted.

"Testing a theory."

"What—"

He leaned in, close enough that I could see the way his pupils dilated when he looked at my mouth.

"You think you're clever," he said softly. "Sneaking around, taking photos, reporting back to June like a good little employee."

"I don't—"

"But here's the thing, Anella." His hand came up, fingers brushing my jaw so lightly I almost thought I'd imagined it. "You're not as invisible as you think you are."

My heart was doing something horrible and erratic in my chest. "Get away from me."

"Make me."

I should've pushed him, slapped him, just done literally anything other than stand there frozen while his thumb traced the curve of my cheekbone.

"You're insane," I whispered.

"Probably." His eyes dropped to my mouth again. "But you're not scared of me."

"Yes I am."

"No." He leaned closer. "You're scared of yourself."

And then he kissed me.